Blind Faith
by Okadiah
Summary: Faith in the Force and faith in himself had always been a hard thing for Kanan after Order 66. But in the medical bay with Hera, after surviving the hell of Malachor and losing his sight, that struggle is as strong as ever.
**Blind Faith**

 _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no emotion, there is peace._

Kanan repeated the first code of the Jedi Order over and over again in his mind like a mantra, as Hera gently lead him by the arm into the fleet's medical bay. Gracelessly and with embarrassment he stumbled over the threshold, and it was only Hera's firm hold that kept him from toppling over. Not for the first time since Malachor did he feel as if he were a piece of wood floating aimlessly on a violent ocean, lost and confused, and sure he was going to be thrown to his death. It was only the steady and constant presence of Ezra, Hera, and the rest of the _Ghost_ crew that was keeping him stabilized, and afloat.

It was made that much worse, however, by the disorienting press of the Force as it seemed to rage and vanish repeatedly, and randomly, as if it was in flux around him. It had started ever since leaving Malachor, once he and Ezra were finally safe and not constantly alert for an attack, and it left Kanan dazed and uneasy. This new change in his physical being was of course terrifying, but it paled in comparison to this startling change in his relationship to the Force. He hoped that whatever was happening was just a temporary thing, and that it would stabilize soon. That it would stabilize as he did, once he'd adjusted to this new change in his life.

If he could.

Kanan's emotions threatened to rise once more, the fear, the anger, the dread, but he forced them down again and again with the first code as he had been for hours now, clinging to the vestiges of his peace like a starving man might cling to scraps. But he didn't show any of it. He _couldn_ _'t_ show it. He was a Jedi Knight, and the chaos of his emotions would take that away from him, and prove to everyone that he _wasn_ _'t_. He couldn't let his emotions control him, no matter how scared and in pain he was. Not if it meant he'd give everyone a reason to doubt him, in his newfound blindness. Not if it gave them a well-warranted reason to lose their faith in him. Even if it might be in their best interests if they did.

And he was terrified about what that might mean for him.

"The table's right here, luv," Hera told him gently as she placed Kanan's hand solidly on something firm but soft, a medical cushion if there ever was one. It even had the paper liner to go with it. "You're right in the center of it. Just turn around and back up. I'll stop you if it seems like you're getting too close to the sides."

Hera had been like this, clear, slow, and detailed with everything concerning his environment ever since Zeb had made a curious, but understandable comment about why Kanan had been stumbling around blind, when he had the Force to tell him where everything was. There had been no malicious intent in Zeb's comment, Kanan knew he'd been trying to understand the situation better as much as any of them were, but the Jedi couldn't ignore how much it had stung. It had been all he could do to remain calm as Ezra explained for him that though Kanan could use the Force to sense his surroundings, it took an act of effort to do it.

Generally speaking, the Jedi used their Force-senses actively and intentionally when they needed it, otherwise it was a passive thing. The reason that Kanan wasn't using the Force was because it was like a muscle that needed to be trained, and though he was great at it on the fly, or in a pinch, he didn't use the Force for everything. Most Jedi didn't. That being the case, how could it be expected of Kanan to actively Force-sense continually? It was draining, and he didn't have that kind of stamina, not yet, and so he stumbled around as anyone else would if they were sightless.

Apparently, however, his dependence on his physical senses seemed to have made him an utter invalid now.

"You know, I can just _feel_ the edges," Kanan couldn't stop himself from saying, turning his head in the direction Hera's voice was coming from. "I haven't lost my sense of touch, Hera." To prove a point, Kanan blindly found the edge of the medical table and slid both hands along the sides, defining its dimensions in terms of everything between his arms and his body, and paused only when the fingers of one of his hands tripped over smaller, slimmer, gloved ones.

Immediately Hera pulled her hand out of the way, but Kanan was slammed with a sudden jolt of panic and instead blindly reached after it … and missed. His pinkie had skimmed the worn leather of Hera's glove, but it was gone like a fish in water, and he was surprised when there was nothing in his hand when he'd fully expected there to be something. There _would_ have been something … if he'd been able to see.

Kanan didn't know why he had expected different, but it seemed that even recently blinded, he still expected the permanent darkness to lift, like a bad dream. Any minute now, the darkness would end and the pain would vanish and his eyes ….

His eyes wouldn't feel like they'd been seared out of his skull in a burning blaze of crimson light.

Warmth surrounded his outstretched hand, and it took all he had not to cling to it like a child and pull Hera into his arms. At least then, even in the darkness, he wouldn't be at risk of losing her. At least if she was within the circle of his arms, he'd know _exactly_ where she was, and not just some phantom in the dark.

And at least there, he wouldn't feel like he was a galaxy away from her, separated by nothing more than missing eyes.

But he resisted the urge, as a Jedi should. It wasn't because he thought that she'd avoid him, or push him away. Kanan knew better than that. No, he just didn't want to make her worry any more than she already was. She had enough on her plate, given everything that had happened on Malachor. As Phoenix Captain, and Captain of the _Ghost_ crew, she would be left to handle everything, now that Kanan was unable to. He didn't want to add his worries and fears to the burden placed on her.

Instead he gently closed his larger hand around hers and focused on not clutching it too tightly. He wanted to give the impression of calm, strong, and natural. The sound of Hera's lips parting though, drawing a delicate breath for what he knew was about to be a question, was suddenly interrupted by the hiss-slide sound of the medical bay doors opening. The sound of bipedal footsteps on the floor broke the silence, and their hands dropped between them.

"Kanan Jarrus?"

Kanan pasted on a thin roguish smile that he didn't at all feel, and turned to the craggy voice of an old woman as it filled the air of the medical bay. The sound of her voice was harsh, and seemed to bounce off the walls to attack his ears roughly.

"That would be me."

"So you're one of the Jedi I've been hearing so much about lately?" the woman asked, her voice growing louder as she walked closer. "I thought you lot weren't supposed to get hurt, what with your mystical Force to guide you." There was a pointed, judgmental tone to her comment that made Kanan's eyebrows draw together, his voice turning hard.

"That must be why there are so many of us around, huh, Doc?" Kanan countered, controlling the burn of anger that had risen at the doctor's rude comment, while trying to cordon it off so that it might fade away harmlessly within some dark corner of his mind. Usually a comment like that would have rolled off his back, but with everything so fresh and raw, his emotions were dangerously close to the surface. He needed to keep it together. He needed to be in control. He was a Jedi Knight. If there was ever a time to act like one, now was a damn good time, even if he didn't think he had the nerves left to spare for it.

He certainly didn't have them in his eyes, as it were. He didn't think so, anyway, but then again that _was_ one of the reasons why he was here, putting up with this criticism. Although Kanan had heard rumors about the Rebel Fleet's Doctor, which had ranged from 'well-trained and capable professional' to 'wicked old crone of the med bay', she was still the only medical professional available who had a chance at rescuing his sight.

Go figure it was his luck, though, that he'd get the wicked old crone.

Beside him he felt Hera take his arm, but there was no missing the tight manner in which she held it, nor the way it felt like she'd gained an inch or two in height, as if she'd stood up straighter. That happened whenever she got it in her mind that she was about to give someone — usually him, admittedly — an earful.

"The Jedi are just as mortal as the rest of us," Hera said with an equally hard voice, one that made him glad that he wasn't on the other end of it. It was melodic to his ears, despite her anger, and in his mind, it was practically music. "They're just as vulnerable to sickness and wounds. Particularly when they are fighting other Force-users."

"Then he shouldn't have been fighting other Force-users," the old crone muttered matter-of-factly, and Kanan didn't know if he was impressed by this old woman's no-shits-given attitude, or violently repulsed by it. Regardless of where he stood on the matter however, he knew where Hera fell. Instead of risk Hera starting an argument with this old woman here in the medical bay on his behalf, he simply reached across himself to touch the hand on his arm, and shook his head.

He didn't know if she'd understood his meaning, but she didn't pursue it further. That didn't mean the grip she had on him lessened any. It didn't mean that she didn't feel as if she were a spring pressed tense, ready to move into action should she feel that this old woman had crossed any more lines.

"I take it you're the doctor?" Kanan asked, and the old woman snorted.

"Who else is there? If there is one, point them out — not that you can — so that they can replace me." Kanan's lips pressed tight at the underhanded comment, but he willed himself to let it roll of his back as she continued. "I'm old and I'm tired, and the Rebellion keeps me busier than I've ever been in the whole of my medical career."

"I would if there were one, if only to find one with more tact than you have," Hera said stiffly. Kanan imagined that her eyes were narrowed, and that hard and righteous look that came when she was offended sat firmly on her beautiful features. The image came to his mind readily enough … but he realized that it did little to sooth him. It did little, other than fill him with a sudden wave of sadness.

He'd never get to see Hera blazing with righteous brilliance again, if his sight couldn't be reclaimed. Already he was wondering if his imagination and his memories were good enough to even come close to providing an acceptable facsimile.

It pained him to realize that he didn't think so.

"Well too bad," the old woman replied, unperturbed by Hera's comment. "There isn't anyone else, and trust me, I've looked. You'll deal with me, or you leave the fleet and hope you can find someone else who won't ask questions about how or why his eyes look to have been cauterized, or who you are, or where you've come from." The sound of fabric shifting hit Kanan's ears, and he imagined the old woman had crossed her arms. In his imagination, he added an ugly scowl on her face, just because he could. "And while you're at it, hope that they'll believe you have credits enough to be able to afford bacta treatment, because I can tell you now that there's not going to be an alternative with this sort of injury."

Ugh. It was all Kanan could do not to groan at the news. Although he'd been expecting this, he'd still hoped that there might have been an alternative. It was true that the healing benefits of bacta treatment were often almost miraculous, but the smell of the stuff often left Kanan nauseous. Ever since he was a youngling back at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, lingering in the medical facilities watching Master Billaba heal, he'd always been uncomfortable with the scent. It was too strong, overwhelming, and it always made him think of her.

But he'd endure the smell and the treatment if it meant that there was any possibility _at all_ that he'd be able to get his sight back. Even only part of it, if that's all that could be saved.

"Do you think the bacta will work?" he couldn't stop himself from asking, hating how clear the hope in his otherwise calm voice was, and he heard the doctor scoff.

"How should I know? I haven't examined you properly yet. Now hurry up and get on that damn table so that we can get this over with. The smell of your charred flesh is making my dessert sit funny."

Hera's grip tightened almost imperceptibly in anger, and Kanan wondered if she knew that she was doing it. He wondered if she knew just how much she was giving away through her usually gentle touch.

Kanan wondered how he'd never noticed before.

"Well then, let's get him examined so that we can get out of your hair," Hera all but growled, clearly doing her best to keep hold of her usually civil temper. At her urging, Kanan let her direct him to sit center on the medical table, the paper below him crunching and making terrible noises, and he was absolutely positive he was going to rip a hole in it.

The old woman's footsteps neared and he was surprised when cold, covered fingers pressed into his face, directing it this way and that as she began a battery of questions.

"Is this the only reason you're here? Any other injuries?"

"I'm a little scuffed up, but that's nothing new."

"I'm not surprised," the old doctor replied blandly. "If your eyes are all I have to work with then, tell me how you were being foolish and allowed this to happen."

"I doubt that Kanan was acting foolishly when he was wounded, doctor," Hera commented coolly. "No one takes the presence of a Sith lightly." Despite Hera's pointed defense, it sounded for all the world as if the old crone had just shrugged it off.

"No one should take battle lightly, and yet it seems I'm the busiest person in the fleet because of it."

"We don't take battle lightly. No one does," argued Hera. "It's cruel and unfair to think that about your patients, don't you think? They are keeping you safe, while fighting for freedom against the Empire. And because they're willing to put their lives on the line, they are at higher risk of getting injured."

"Or killed," followed Kanan as thoughts of Ahsoka, and her fate on Malachor flowed to the front of his mind.

"I don't think it much matters what my personal opinions mean to anyone," the crone countered. "Everyone's going to put up with them anyway, because I'm the only one that can patch all of you fools up in the end."

"If you're so against the fight, then why are you here, 'patching up the fools'?"

Kanan's hold on Hera tightened. It wasn't like her to let her temper get the best of her, and he knew she wouldn't like it if she did, and he hadn't tried to stop her first.

"Hera, it's fine. She's entitled to her own opinions, and she's all we have. I'll let her call me a 'fool' all day, so long as she's still willing to do her job. That alright with you, Doctor —?" Kanan paused. The old woman hadn't exactly offered up her name when she'd come in.

"'Doctor' is fine," the old woman filled in carelessly. "It's what everyone calls me. At the very least, everyone knows exactly who to call in an emergency."

"Right," Kanan muttered slowly, ready to just get all of his over with, his heart suddenly tight and anxious about what the doctor might find, once she actually started the examination. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Just sit tight, Jedi, though I suspect for someone like you that might be asking too much." As much as he understood where Hera was coming from, he couldn't help but admit that the old woman's sharp comments were starting to grow on Kanan a little, if he was being completely honest with himself. There was no pity there, and no pained sympathy. Not that he didn't appreciate the care and consideration that his family was giving him, but there was something stabilizing about the rude way she didn't seem to give a damn about what she said, or who she said it to. There was something relieving in not being treated like something broken beyond repair.

He did as he was instructed, and let the doctor manipulate his head this way and that before he felt her fingers drift to the sides of his head, slipping under the bandage. Kanan swallowed, anticipating what was coming next.

"This might sting."

Even with the warning, 'sting' wasn't what Kanan would have called the sharp pain that came when the doctor began removing the bandage Ezra had put on him on their way back from Malachor, and then started cleaning the wound. Ezra had insisted that they use this particular type of bandage, since it was reusable and was a type best able to hold bacta once they'd returned to the fleet. There hadn't been any bacta on the _Phantom_. Hera usually kept a very small amount of the healing agent on reserve in the _Ghost_ for extreme emergencies, but it was too hard to come by to keep in the _Phantom_ as well. It was a shame, because it was a known fact that the sooner the bacta was applied, the better it worked, and even though the amount of time spent in travel back to Chopper Base hadn't been all that long due to their haste, he still knew that the range for which the bacta would be optimally effective would have diminished. Maybe even considerably.

But hope against hope, he prayed that the bacta wouldn't have lost its effectiveness, no matter how much the Force whispered to him and made his heart sink.

"Solid cauterization, more heavily on the right side than the left," the old crone muttered as those cold fingers swept clinically around his face, careful to avoid touching the bright, burning flesh drawing a solid line across his face. "Deep," she suddenly said softly. "Very deep." Kanan heard a click from somewhere in the doctor's direction and he waited for … anything. But there was only the darkness, and he could only guess as to what the doctor was checking him for. The click came again, and this time she said, "Hold still. I'm scanning your sockets to see how extensive the nerve damage is. If you're lucky, your retinas and your optic nerves are still there."

Judging by the sound of her voice, he didn't think she thought he was lucky.

"And if not?"

"Then there's nothing bacta can do for you, Jedi. It might be possible to regrow your eyes and some of the nerves, if there are any nerves left to regrow. But if your retinas, and failing that your optic nerves, are burned off, you might have the proper organ to see, but there will be no connecting it to your nervous system. You won't regain your sight."

He didn't say anything after that. No one did.

Throughout the procedure, he kept Hera's hand in his. A little after the doctor had started her work, he'd found the seams of her glove and had begun to tug at them, slowly slipping her fingers free so that he could remove the glove to hold her hand within his without a barrier. Once she'd realized what he was trying to do, she'd immediately helped by pulling the leather all the way free and taking his hand again, holding it tightly in hers.

She was warm. She was always so warm. Twi'leks ran warmer than humans did, and that had been a _wonderful_ thing over the years when the nights in space got just a little too cold, or when they landed on an icy planet. Right now that heat dominated his attention, and the doctor kept harshly scolding him every time he'd find he'd accidentally began to turn his head in Hera's direction, or down to their clasped hands, as if that would enable him to see her.

It didn't. But it made him feel a little better at the very least. It made him feel as if he were connected to reality, when he felt so distanced from it in the never ending darkness.

"Does Commander Sato need us for anything else, Hera?" he asked gently, breaking the silence. If he focused, maybe he could pretend that the doctor wasn't there. After all, if you can't see something, it isn't really there, right? Every kid in the galaxy thought that at one time or another, when they were alone at night in the dark. He could pretend for a time now too.

"No," she replied softly from beside him, and he felt his shoulders immediately relax at the sound of her lovely alto. "After you and Ezra finished debriefing him, he told me that missions for Phoenix Squadron would be passed on to the other teams for a rotation or two. At the very least we have a day to … recover a little, and work things out."

He almost released the dark chuckle that had abruptly swelled from some pit within him. A day. A single day. What sort of healing and recovery could happen in a day?

Definitely not enough to make him useful again. Of that he felt _very_ sure.

"Hopefully you and the team can get back out there soon," Kanan said quietly as he gently squeezed her fingers. "There's still so much to do. We can't afford to have Phoenix Squadron out of the running for so long."

Kanan didn't need eyes to know that Hera was frowning at his response. He didn't know if it was the Force or just long years spent together, but he could practically _feel_ it as if it was being pressed into his skin.

"Kanan —"

"Your right side is destroyed. It would be an act of God if you're able to see from it again," the doctor cut in as if they weren't having a conversation, and Kanan didn't know if he was displeased with the blunt and rude manner of the doctor, or thankful that she'd cut Hera off from pressing him into explaining why he'd carefully omitted himself from the squadron's future activity. "The left side, however might be salvageable. And I say that with a _generous_ dose of optimism."

That made sense. Maul had struck him from right to left, not that it had felt any different as the Sith's lightsaber had seared into him. Kanan was about to make a comment about the doctor's 'optimism', but Hera's voice shot out before his.

"Would he be able to have full use of his eye, if the bacta works well?"

Kanan heard fabric shift in front of him, and thought that it might have been the doctor shrugging her shoulders.

"Hard to say. If the eye does heal, there's a chance that the nerves will connect and he'll be able to use it again. More likely, however, is that the retina and optic nerve will be usable, but they won't connect to the eye correctly, and he'll still be blind."

"But if the nerves are still usable, is there a possibility we could look into cybernetic implants?"

Kanan couldn't stop himself at the very thought of cybernetics. "And look like Vidian? I don't know about that, Hera. I might just take blindness over that alternative."

She rolled her eyes. She _had_ to have rolled her eyes at that one, he just _knew_ it, and he tried to be satisfied with the small huff she gave him as a sign that he was right. He tried to be satisfied with imagining her rolling her beautiful emerald eyes. He focused hard on the lie.

It might have almost worked.

"Count Vidian was a walking cybernetic implant. This would just be an eye," she chided, and he couldn't help how his lips pulled up into a weak, appeasing smile.

"Alright, alright! Just so long as I can shoot blaster bolts out of it too."

"You'd shoot through your eyelid if that were the case," she scoffed and Kanan chuckled. He very well might.

"Blaster cybernetic implants aside," cut in the doctor with a put-upon huff, "Although yes, there might be the possibility of cybernetic implants, that's only an option _if_ the nerves are able to be repaired. And I think you're overestimating the amount of optimism I'm giving his left side to heal. It's more than likely that the bacta isn't going to be able to fix the left side either. It's only a very small chance that the bacta will work well enough for an alternative visual procedure."

The room went quiet, very quiet, and suddenly the Force surged and was _everywhere_ again. As if someone had spontaneously decided to turn up the Force's power-level from 'stun' to 'kill', and he felt as if he were being compressed from every direction. Vertigo swamped his senses, and he had no idea what was up, or down, or if he was even still on the medical table anymore, but throughout the sudden onslaught of inner Force-sensitivity … he found he knew something. Like the Force had whispered something subliminally into the back of his mind a while ago, and he was only now realizing the full extent of what that message was. Why if felt as if the Force were surging throughout every fiber of his being … but the space where his eyes should have been.

With certainty, _utter_ certainty, he knew that the bacta wouldn't work. There would be no saving his sight.

"Kanan?"

The Jedi Knight relaxed the tight hold he'd had on Hera's hand as the world settled around him again, feeling as if he had all the room in the world to breath, even if his heart felt intensely tight. He forced his face carefully blank, Jedi blank, and turned to her.

"Hmm?"

"This is great news, isn't it, luv?" Hera said in an uplifting tone filled with sharp hope. "Even if it's not all of your sight, there's still a _chance_ that you might be able to see again, even if it's just one eye." Kanan's heart pulled tighter because he suddenly _knew_ she didn't believe her own words. That sharp tone was the one she used when she was giving false hope.

For some reason, despite what the doctor had told them, Hera hadn't believed her. He wondered if the doctor had indicated to Hera the truth silently, to keep it from him. As unlikely as that seemed, given the doctor's attitude, Kanan suspected that was what had happened. Perhaps the old crone had some tact after all.

And if Hera wanted to give him false hope, then who was he to deny such a well-intentioned gift? Still, it was a struggle not to let his grin wobble as he said, "Best news I've had all day."

As the doctor worked on applying the bacta to the bandage, programming the dispersal system to ensure that none of the precious healing agent was wasted, unease sat like a stone in Kanan's gut. He should tell her. If there was anyone in the whole of the galaxy he should tell the truth to, it should be Hera, but the words felt lodged in his throat. She was trying to give him hope, and he was trying to give her hope that he'd believed her, but what good would that do either of them, when they both knew the truth? It was better to tell the truth than live the lie and allow the fallout to intensify for it. He should tell her.

"That should be that, for now. Come back in a few days so that we can see how the healing is coming along," the doctor said finally in a soft voice as her hands left the sides of his face after replacing the bandage. The cold feel of the bacta felt good, at first, but the longer it sat on his tortured flesh, the more a burning sensation began to build. Kanan didn't know if it was from the fresh application of the bacta, or his abused flesh screaming again at having something foreign on it once more, but the feeling was only growing.

"Oh, and before I forget." That was the only warning he got before his Force-senses flared enough to comprehend a quick movement, moments before a sharp pain hit his bicep.

"Hey!" Involuntarily he reached a hand up to seize whatever it was that the doctor had hit him with, but she'd retrieved it before he could catch her. Almost immediately the pain began to subside from sharp and burning to a deep, low throb, and his brow furrow. "What did you do?"

"Just gave you some pain-killers to help with the pain. You should be feeling it now."

"Yeah, I am," he muttered wearily, his senses up and ready in case she tried to pull another fast one on him. "Warn me next time, Doc."

"I thought you Jedi were supposed to be aware of things like that."

Kanan frowned in the doctor's direction. "I didn't think I had to be aware of an attack here, of all places."

"Then maybe your lack of discipline is what has led to this whole problem," the old woman said coolly, but before Kanan could say anything to defend himself, her craggy voice rolled out again. "Captain Syndulla, if you don't mind, I'm old and diminutive, and I need help reaching a walking stick that's in storage for this blind fool. It should hold him over until we can find something better."

Kanan half expected Hera to make some sort of sharp retort, payment for all the rude treatment Kanan had received, but after a long, quiet moment, he felt Hera begin to release his hand.

"Alright," she agreed, and he felt her stand before that warmer-than-normal hand rested on his shoulder. "I'll be right back. If you need anything, just call for me and I'll be right here. It shouldn't take long."

"It's just a walking stick," he chuckled, not feeling it. "Go show the old doctor what it means to be young and capable."

"You'll eat your words the next time you need me to fix you up," came the aged voice from further away, right before the door hissed open and her footsteps took her out. Hera's hand lingered on him for a moment before it slipped off of his shoulder, and he listened to her footsteps move away.

"Don't hesitate to call me if you need me," she said, and Kanan grinned at her flirtatiously, falling back on old habits out of familiarity and comfort.

"If you don't get out of here soon, I'm going to start getting the idea that you don't _want_ to go. I can promise you that even blind, I could make it worth your while, if you stay."

He could practically _see_ her rolling her eyes at him. "Of course, only _you_ would act as if your injury didn't mean anything."

"Why should it? Blindfolds can be sexy, you know," he replied, his grin widening, and he heard her soft chuckle before she turned and walked out of the room, the door hissing behind her.

As the silence settled around him as he sat alone in the medical room, his grin faded, and whatever it was that had kept his back tall and strong slipped away as well. In moments, it was all he could do to hunch over, forearms resting on his thighs as he fought the old urge to run his fingers through his hair, or along the edges of the bandage and feel the damage for himself now that it was medically treated. But that was a bad idea, and a stupid one at that. All it would take was a careless breech of the bandage, and he might risk a deadly infection, and more verbal abuse from the witch of a doctor.

The silence of the room pounded into his ears, making them ring with the silence, and to distract himself from the maddening nothing, he focused on what he could hear. There were the soft beeps and whirls of the machinery and droids around him. There was the buzz of the electricity in the lights. There was the sound of his blood pounding through his ears. There was the sound of muffled voices, so small and indistinct that he could hardly make out a word.

But even muffled, he knew the sound of Hera's soothing alto anywhere.

Unable to stop himself, and desperate for something familiar in the numb and lonely darkness, he began focusing on her voice. With his normal hearing, he couldn't make out much, just mumbled gibberish, but with a breath he focused his hearing and gently opened himself up to the Force. It was an old Force honing technique that younglings were taught, to improve their physical senses using the Force. It hadn't always been something that he was great at, but if there was ever a time to start getting good at it, it was now.

With increasing focus as the moments passed, he concentrated on the muffled sound of Hera's voice as if it were a channel on the comm that he was trying to tune into for the best reception. It took him a few moments, but after patiently negotiating with the Force, her voice suddenly shifted into crystal clear focus, as if he were standing right next to her, and a little pleasure sat within Kanan's chest for this small triumph.

But it fell when he started catching on to what Hera was talking to the doctor about, in secret.

"You're positive," Hera's voice asked quietly, harsh with strain as she pushed out her words. "The bacta isn't going to work?"

"It might rebuild his eyes and the flesh that was damaged, and it might even rebuild some of his nerves, but it won't be able to reconnect the organ to allow for sight, or even an implant. His eyes will be vestigialar and nothing more, once the bacta is done. He might be easier to look at, at least."

"I don't care what he looks like!" Hera said firmly in response, almost shouting it at the old woman, and Kanan's breath lodged in his throat as he continued to listen. "I care about him feeling capable again! I care about him being able to see, instead of stumbling around as if he's lost. I care about him being _him_ , and being able to _be_ him!"

Kanan's chest ached with Hera's admission. This woman loved him so much, and what good was he now? What was he doing, but causing her more pain and suffering, and making her life hard? Making her worry so deeply.

Silence filled the hall where Hera and the doctor were having their furtive conversation, and an old sigh filled the air.

"I'm sorry, Captain Syndulla. I know this isn't the news you want to hear."

Hera didn't say anything in response, and Kanan had to strain himself to hear anything other than that. For a moment he thought that he'd lost his concentration, and that he'd lost his Force-enhanced hearing, but he heard footsteps moving away, lighter footsteps that lacked the confident tempo Hera owned. Soon they disappeared behind the hiss of a door opening and shutting, and the air once again fell silent.

And then he'd heard the sudden, sharp intake of breath, and the quietest of sobs.

Shock and alarm roared through Kanan, as he realized he was hearing Hera, but in that moment of insight his focus seemed to snap, and everything once again went silent. Well, not silent. Not really. It was just his normal hearing in the sound of the empty medical bay, and the suddenness of the transition left him reeling. His mind ached and raced as despair flowed around his heart like a harsh current.

She had been crying. He'd _heard_ it, and it tore him apart. Hera was so strong, the strongest person he knew, and she was grieving for _him_. Kanan even suspected he'd heard the sound of tears sliding down her skin, and falling to the floor below, right before he'd lost his concentration. Hera was crying for _him_.

In the silence a pained sound rose into the air from him, a stifled, agonized groan, or a pained whine, he didn't know. All he knew was that his heart ached deeply. Hera was crying, alone in the middle of the hall _for him_. For what he'd experienced, and what he'd lost. And what was worse was that she was hiding it _from_ him. She was trying to be strong for him, and was hiding her pain from him, and it felt _wrong_. She shouldn't be out there alone, being so strong. She _should not_ be alone.

He toppled forward onto the floor before he even realized he'd begun pushing himself off the table. He caught himself late, but still managed to land on his hands and knees before his face slammed into the ground. The sudden movement caused the wound on his face to pound horribly, but he ignored it as he shot his hands out, frantic, trying to find the table again so that he could pull himself back up and orient himself, his thoughts racing as he just wanted to _get to her_. But the darkness was everywhere, and it didn't let up no matter how much he willed it to. It was just stifling darkness, everywhere, and it was only as he found the table and began to force himself into an upright position, tentative on his own feet, that he reached out with his mind, anxiously connecting to the Force.

On instinct he shot out his Force-senses, trying to feel out for the door, for Hera, but when he did, he swayed dangerously and had to hold onto the edge of the medical table as horrible vertigo once again threatened to topple him over, the feeling made that much worse because of his blinded state. The world, through his connection to the Force, seemed to surge, echoing back to him like relentless echolocation, and he had to take a few very important breaths to prevent himself from dry heaving onto the floor. It was disorienting, and confusing, and his Force-senses felt heightened to almost unbearable sensitivity. The newfound intensity left him breathless. Had his Force-senses always been like this, only he'd never realized it because he'd never had reason to, or was it because he'd lost his sight, and the Force was ramping up to compensate when he didn't have the skill yet to harness it?

It didn't matter and he didn't care at the moment as he tried to reground himself through a few more calming breaths that didn't really help, and tried once again to focus. He could do this. He'd done this on Malachor against Maul, after all. The Force had just been there; it hadn't even seemed as if he'd lost his vision at all. He'd just _known_ , and the Force had been _there and right_. But how had he done it? Through all the pain, and all the terror and loss, Kanan had somehow managed to tune it all out and submit to the Force, trust it, and trust that it would help him fight off the old Sith, so that he could get to Ezra before the situation got worse. Before Maul could get to him.

But he didn't know _how_ he'd done it. It had all happened too fast, and too easily.

He felt blind and useless, and for an irrational moment he couldn't help but wonder if what he'd done with Maul had been a one-time thing. If it would ever happen again. If the Force had helped him just that one time, and would abandon him in the future when he needed it most.

Fear rose in him like a wave, and Kanan ruthlessly pushed it back. No. No, he refused to believe that. There were many things he was in life, a faithless, stupid coward among them, but he wasn't that now. Not since joining Hera. Not since the _Ghost_ crew needed him. Not since Ezra depended on him. Not since he finally became a Jedi Knight. He trusted the Force again, and this change in his life should not be the thing to shake his faith.

The young Kanan Jarrus, and the person who had been Caleb Dume … they would have been shaken, but that was all behind him now. He had to find a way to let go of old tendencies to doubt and suspect the Force, and instead believe that it would be there for him when he needed it. After all, he'd let the Force in finally, after years of estrangement.

Kanan knew that if he began to doubt the Force now, and his connection to it, he would turn back into what he had been, and he'd destroy _everything_ good he had now. He'd lose Ezra. The dark side of the Force would take the boy; it would only be a matter of time. He'd lose the respect and trust of Zeb, Sabine, and Chopper.

He'd lose Hera.

And that was the _last_ thing he wanted. Although the Order's laws concerning personal and emotional attachment were absolute, and although he understood the dangers that he risked by becoming attached, he knew _for a fact_ that he was better for them. He knew what it was like to live a life devoid of attachment, moving from place to place when he became too comfortable, or it became too dangerous for him to stay any longer, for risk of exposing his Jedi heritage. He knew the loneliness that that sort of life held. He knew how sick and dark and empty his soul had felt.

And because of that perspective, he knew just _how much better_ he was, here, with people who cared about him and loved him, even if he wasn't worthy. He knew how much better he was to have people _he loved_ , and could depend upon and trust.

He couldn't be who he had been, not now. He _couldn_ _'t_.

That was why he had to try to _make_ the Force work well enough for him to be useful. He _had_ to. Because if he couldn't be useful, if he couldn't keep up and hold his weight, if he couldn't be who everyone believed he was now, if he was nothing more than a burden … well, what good would he be? What could he provide the Rebellion? He'd just be a broken tool that could blindly use the Force, and what good would that do anyone? No, he needed to harness his sensitivity to the Force so that he wouldn't hold Hera and the rest of their family, or the Rebellion, back. He needed to be useful again, as soon as possible, otherwise he might get them killed.

He needed to be a Jedi of the Rebellion again. Not a Broken Jedi that almost helped defeat the Empire.

Focusing again, he reached out to the Force and _forced_.

For a moment, a single brilliant moment … he felt like he had on Malachor. Like … like he could almost see through the darkness and into the Force and back into the world and _see_. He wasn't entirely sure what it was he was seeing … but it was a sight. A type of sight, a _better_ sight, and it felt for the moment as if the world had stabilized. His vertigo settled. His heart unclenched for a moment from his panic and he experienced … he didn't even know what to call this. Expansion, maybe, or extension. He still felt like himself … but more. He felt _aware_.

But that feeling only lasted that one incredible moment before the Force heaved. Before he realized what was happening, it hammered into him relentlessly, rendering him stunned and immobile. Now that he was forcing the Force, he felt buffeted ruthlessly as all of his senses heightened past sensitivity into pain too much and too quickly to prepare for. The chaos of the Force was everywhere, screaming through him like a storm, vying for his attention in everything, and in every direction.

Instinctively Kanan pulled back, realizing his terrible mistake at having demanded of the Force, but it was like trying to close a floodgate with a torrent of water raging past, and it was slow, difficult, and painful. The Force raced through him like lightning, causing his ears to ache with all the sounds they were picking up, magnified beyond control. His sense of touch was abruptly hyper-sensitive, and he gasped as even the feel of his comfortable and well-worn clothing felt worse than steel wool. The tastes in his mouth were overwhelming, and his head felt as if it were going to explode with all the harsh medical scents plowing into his sinuses. Overwhelmed by the sensational onslaught, he threw the Force away from him desperately. It was too much! It was all too much!

The intensity lessened just as quickly as it had overwhelmed him, and he gasped, as if he'd just broken free to the surface of water after almost having drowned.

Kanan's heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat lining his spine as he crouched over the medical table, reeling, but suddenly thankful for the numb darkness and dimmed feel of his normal senses. Somehow, by some small miracle, he was still on his feet, but he wanted nothing more than to collapse to the floor and sink through it as he realized what had happened.

A rebound. The Force had rebounded on him. It had given him exactly what he'd wanted from it, _and then some_.

His hands tightened into fists as anger rose within him at his own foolishness. Stupid. That had been utterly _moronic_. In his desperation, he'd tried to _force the Force_. What was _wrong_ with him? That was a lesson you learned when you were an Initiate, not to push the Force because the Force sometimes _pushed you back_. Initiates learned that lesson early in their training, because it was often hard to be patient and allow Force-skills to develop naturally, especially when peers developed in the Force at differing rates. It was difficult for most Initiates, and some Padawan, not to regale friends with great tales of insight, skill, and connection to the Force when it happened, and it wasn't uncommon for Initiates to try to force the connection with the Force, like he just had, out of desperation or envy or desire. More often than not, nothing would happen, but sometimes someone would get exactly what they wanted, and it would be more than they bargained for. With an Initiate, who only had a budding connection to the Force, it was never too bad of a rebound.

But for him? For a Knight deeply connected to the Force, so strongly that even when he'd shunned it, it had still forced its way back into his life?

Kanan was lucky he hadn't been driven unconscious. He was lucky that at most, it had felt like a warning, or a reprimand. But he had a feeling that if he tried again to stubbornly force his way into skills he needed to take time to develop, he might receive a punishment much worse than what he just had.

The moments passed quietly as he slowly came back to himself, grounding himself within his body and his normal senses again. His breath became something more stable as he repeated the first code over and over in an effort to attain peace. Kanan didn't know how long it had been since the episode, but he suspected it had been a long while, and finally in control again, he straightened up and let out the breath he'd been holding. He was thankful that Hera hadn't come back in while he'd been suffering, and then recovering from the rebound. He wouldn't be able to act like a Jedi, and have her believe it, otherwise.

He felt empty, though. Empty except for the heart of him, which felt like he was sporting a heavy, hurting lump. He felt chastised and embarrassed and ashamed for his reckless and foolish behavior. He was a Jedi Knight, he should have more control than this, no matter what had happened to prime him for feeling this way, no matter his past. He shouldn't have lost control of his emotions, no matter his pain, or his fear.

Kanan was a Jedi Knight, and he needed to act like one.

Regardless, he still felt that he needed to find Hera, and comfort her. But instead of using the Force right now, he'd do it on his own, like normal people did as a form of penance and apology to the Force.

Kanan sighed as he took a slow and tentative step forward in the dark, tired and disheartened and absolutely positive that he was about to run into something, or knock over something delicate or precious in the medical bay like some charging purrgil. Despite his certainty, he kept slowly putting one foot in front of the next, hand out and waiting for his inevitable collision with something, heading in the direction he thought the door was in.

He just wanted to … be alone. He just wanted to go to his cabin and sleep. And because he knew that sleep wouldn't come, he would instead try to meditate. And when he finally got tired of trying to do that, because he knew he wasn't in the frame of mind to achieve such a delicate state … he guessed he'd just keep staring into the permanent darkness, alone and cut off because he needed to show Hera and the crew that he was still strong and in control, and —

If Kanan's eyes still had eyelids — and the doctor had been very vague about that he'd noticed. Once again it would depend on the bacta, and what it would be able to help regrow — he would have blinked at the way his hand had suddenly, almost naturally, _unnaturally_ , slid along the top of narrow shoulders, the familiar feel of Hera's flight suit brushing his fingertips. Hera jumped, and Kanan felt her head jerk to the side, turning towards his direction as her lekku abruptly whipped around, gently whacking his arm in the process.

"Kanan! What are you doing here?" Hera chided quickly. "You should have called me. I would have heard you and helped you." Her voice was clear and filled with concern, and Kanan suspected that it had been a while since she'd started and stopped crying. How long had he been recovering from the Force-rebound? Long enough for her to regain her composure, it seemed. Should he bring it up, now that he wasn't really needed?

Hera immediately turned, holding his arm as if the floor might give out from under him if she didn't. Slowly, after she had a firm grip of him, she said, "It's a wonder that you didn't trip over anything trying to find me. You didn't even trip over the threshold of the door." The concern, and … something Kanan chose not to think of as curiosity, laced her beautiful voice, and all he did was give her a small smile that gave nothing of his thoughts away as he decided he'd let the need to comfort Hera go, for now. Hera was allowed her own secrets after all. Who was he to pry into them, even if they were about him?

"Must have gotten lucky," he said gently in response. "I was just waiting to fall on my face and make a fool of myself."

"It's a wonder you didn't," she said softly as she drew him close. "The doctor is trying to find that walking stick for you, but she thinks she misplaced it. She told me to come back tomorrow. She might have found it by then."

Kanan nodded to her, though his mind kept drifting back to the surprise that he'd found her _at all_ on his own, let alone having made it to her without tripping over anything. He hadn't been thinking about his loss of sight, in his desire to go back home to the _Ghost_. How had he done it? There was no way he could have done it on his own.

But he was still too chastised from his last interaction with the Force to be willing to admit to himself that it might have been the Force. That it might have carefully guided him, now that he wasn't trying to _make_ it work for him.

He let the question go though, too tired and down-hearted to delve deeply into it. He'd think on it later, when he felt more up to it, and wasn't feeling so unworthy.

"In that case, let's get back to the _Ghost_. I don't know about you, but I'm … kinda beat."

Hera's hold on his arm tightened in understanding, and his heart pulled at the tender gesture. "Do you want to eat something first?"

He shook his head carefully, the wound still sensitive to movement given how inflamed and horrible it felt, despite the medication.

"No. I just want to get back to the _Ghost_ and sleep."

Kanan felt Hera's body move, shifting in what he was pretty sure was a nod.

"Alright. Let's go. I'm sure the others are anxious to hear the news."

He frowned at that, before he sighed heavily, and he felt Hera stop and turn to look at him. "What is it, Kanan?"

"Hera," Kanan said softly, turning his face down in Hera's direction. "I _know_."

Silence filled the air between them for a long moment before she gave an unhappy sigh. "You overheard?"

"Well, yes, I did," he admitted, drawing her around so that he could hold her shoulders gently between his hands, stroking them with his thumbs in soothing sweeps. "But I already knew before that."

"How?" she asked, confusion clear in her voice. "The doctor was very subtle about telling me while she was examining you. Surprising, given it was her, but still, I thought she'd been successful."

Kanan gave her a small, tired smile. "The Force told me, Hera. I … I _know_ I'm never going to be able to see again," he admitted, then his smile fell a little as he added, "And your voice confirmed it."

"I'm so sorry, Kanan," she said, and he silenced her by drawing her into a careful hug, aiming his face up to avoid any accidental facial collisions. Her arms hesitantly flowed around his torso, and he sighed softly when she leaned her weight into him. It was a great relief. A great comfort, and for the time he'd allow himself this.

"Don't be. I know why you did it, and I appreciate it," he said softly, stroking her back. "I know it came with the best of intentions."

She didn't say anything for a long time as they simply held each other, and the longer he held her, the more he felt his body relaxing, the deeper the fatigue of the last few days was finally sinking into him. He was tired. Now, more than anything, he wanted to go back to the _Ghost_ with Hera and just hold her close. He wanted to hear her heart beat, he wanted to listen to her speak to him until he forgot everything that had happened, until he couldn't remember the pain, or his doubt, or his failures as a Jedi Knight, as Ezra's Master, as a comrade, or as a weapon for the Rebellion. He just wanted … a reprieve. A break from it all.

But he wasn't going to get it, and he shouldn't taunt himself with such fantasies. Not when he had to figure out a way that he could become useful again, as soon as possible. If it was possible.

"Come on," he finally said with a quiet sigh, his thoughts heavy and dark in his mind. But he let her go and he stood as tall as he could, despite how his doubt and his worry and his pain attempted to pull him down. "Let's get back to the _Ghost_."

"Right," she said softly, her hand lingering on his for a moment before she dutifully swept up his arm in hers and began to pull him along. And he let her, trusting her completely to get him back to the _Ghost_ unharmed and safe.

It was a silent journey, and he knew that there were things on her mind that she was so clearly concerned about, but she didn't say anything, and a part of him was thankful for it. He didn't know if he could be strong if she asked. He didn't know if he could still act like a Jedi if she asked. He wasn't sure he wouldn't shatter if, once she started asking, she started treating him as an invalid and side-lined him, for his own sake. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if she thought he had lost his worth, now that he _had_.

The question kept rising in his mind, no matter how many times he tried to chase it away. What was he going to do? He was a blind Jedi now. Kanan remembered that there had been blind Jedi back at the Temple on Coruscant, and it had appeared to everyone that the limitation wasn't a problem at all for them. As if they'd never had eyes to begin with at all. But how had they done it? How long had it taken them to become independent again, to have a connection and a sensitivity so strong in the Force that their visual disability was overcome? That the Force didn't threaten to overwhelm them, like it did him. Could he do it?

And if he could, could he do it fast enough? This was another question that kept on rising repeatedly as well. With everything that was happening with the Rebellion and the Empire, with Ezra, this couldn't have come at a worse time. He would _need_ to master this limitation as soon as possible. He didn't have the luxury of time to train and figure things out. The _Ghost_ crew and Phoenix Squadron would have missions in no time. Whether it was in a few days, or a week, his family would be out on the front lines, and he … he would be useless. What could he do now for them, blind and waiting for his Force sensitivity to stabilize and grow?

Worry and despair slipped through him because … he didn't know. There were so many questions now that needed answering, and he had none. He wanted to know. He wanted to know _so badly_ , but he was tired, and thinking right now just … it wouldn't get him anywhere. His head felt heavy and ached with the stress of it all. He just wanted to be alone and … figure out how he could be useful again. How he would learn to control himself and achieve balance in the Force again.

Not for the first time did he wish for Master Billaba's patient guidance. And not for the first time, and certainly not the last, was he left without it.

As Hera lead him out of the fleet ship and into the cooling desert warmth as night began to settle, he turned his head up to the sky and imagined looking up at the stars in the deep darkness, and he silently prayed, and hoped that somehow, someway, this wasn't as bad as it seemed. That by the grace of the Force, it would all work out in the end.

Somehow.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this piece, and I'm sorry it's a bit heavy, and painful, and that there's not a whole lot of closure. Given everything that happened to Kanan, I thought it was important to explore his mental state and I figured he'd be in some real self-doubt about himself and the Force, even if he's trying to be a trooper about it, and that this struggle isn't easily solved. Poor Kanan. Life's hard, but I have faith in him that he'll figure it out.

Anyway, like I said, I hope you enjoyed reading this, and I'd love to know what you thought!


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